


A Bridge Too Far?

by Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: Dakin being sweet, Established Relationship, Irwin has problems but we all knew that anyway, M/M, Post canon, allusion to the Alton Towers trip that I couldn't write, oodles of fluff, trigger warning for Irwin for the west country
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires
Summary: An unanswered letter gives Dakin ideas(Or, Dakin is a nosy, interfering, but ultimately well-meaning little sod)
Relationships: Stuart Dakin/Tom Irwin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	A Bridge Too Far?

“What’s this?” Stu plucks an envelope out of the overfull recycling.

It’s been wedged in beside a folded cereal box but most of it’s poking out of the top and Stu can clearly see that isn’t even opened despite being marked URGENT in large red letters across the top.

The bulging recycling box has migrated from its usual home to the surface next to the door as a not-so-subtle hint.

“Stuart, will you please stop stalling and take out the bloody bins?” Tom snaps, his attention on his morning paper.

“Hang on”

The sound of tearing paper attracts Tom's attention.

“What are you -? Stu, no! ” He makes an unsuccessful grab for it.

“Dear Mr Irwin –“ Stu reads, sidestepping neatly.

Tom makes another attempt to snatch it but Stu evades him. He’s shorter but Tom’s gammy leg means he isn’t as fast and Stu manages to read the letter aloud while ducking out of reach and clambering over the furniture.

“I am writing to invite you…” He laughs, evading grasping fingers “…to speak at Bristol University graduation ceremony this coming year. As a valued alumnus we would be delighted if you would consent to give a short speech. As you can appreciate…” At this point he is forced to run into the living room, the letter held aloft “…we are keen to finalise the arrangements and would appreciate a response by the end of the week, apologies for the short notice but our last two letters seem to have gone astray.”

Stu is nearly breathless from laughter, enjoying the game but, to his surprise, Tom looks far from amused, standing stiffly with his arms crossed.

“What’s up?” He frowns, climbing down from the coffee table “you should go, it’d be a laugh”

“It wouldn’t.”

“You gave that talk at Liverpool Uni”

“That’s completely different”

“It’s because you went to Bristol?”

Tom’s face confirms it by turning a shade that an interior designer might label ‘Sunset Glow’

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t”

“Of course you don’t” Tom mutters bitterly, limping his way to the sofa.

“It’s not exactly shameful”

“They’ll go on about me being an alumnus and owing my success to the university and I don’t want that”

“Don’t want people knowing more like” Stu smiles, sitting down with him.

“Well, would you?” He picks at the upholstery rather than making eye contact.

Stu laughs, a tactical error. “It’s a good uni!”

“That isn’t the point” he grinds out.

“Ok well, answer them, at least. I think it’s nice they asked you. They’re obviously proud of you. Must really want you to write _three times_ ”

“They don’t give a shit about me, they just need someone even a little bit famous to stop the mums and dads falling asleep, and you know it. Let them ask Derren Brown”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you went to uni together. Did you shag him?”

“Two things:” Tom counts off on his fingers as he speaks. “uni isn’t just for shagging”

Stu raises an eyebrow and gives him a look that clearly says _‘yeah, right_ ’.

“Two:” He frowns with the effort of processing his partner's stupidity. “he’s nearly twenty years younger than me. We were **not** at uni together”

Stu shrugs “Well, he’s magic so it’s not impossible”

“He’s not magic, Stu!” He breaks off to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You know what, just take the bins out!” He finally snatches the letter, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it back at the recycling box. It bounces off the top and skitters away across the floor.

Knowing when he’s beaten, Stu lets it go, although he rescues the letter, which he keeps in his desk drawer at work.

*****

In spite of his somewhat sentimental rescue, the letter is quickly forgotten until a miserable day in early summer the next year when, looking for something else, he finds it buried beneath piles of more relevant paperwork.

He isn’t sure what it is at first, and opens it out, smiling at the memory as he reads it.

He did threaten to have it framed at the time, but Tom nearly caught him with quite a heavy book he sent flying, so he daren’t actually do it. All the same, he thinks it would have been a better idea than leaving it entombed in his office drawer for eternity.

He’d really wanted Tom to do it at the time. Rereading it, he wishes that he’d been able to persuade him - he was genuinely so proud of him, not that Tom would believe it for a second. Ah well, Tom's insecurity is nothing new, he thinks a little sadly as he returns it to the bottom of the drawer and continues looking for his work file.

The letter drifts through his thoughts as he gets on with work and lunchtime finds him forgoing his usual trip to the cafe round the corner in favour of browsing the internet for suitable compensation, something to convince Tom of his worth, and his idiocy, in Stu's eyes. _'You're getting soft in your old age'_ he tells himself as he enters in his credit card details with a grin. In spite of his chiding, he's extremely proud of himself.

“Clear your diary for next weekend.” He orders over dinner that evening.

“OK. Any reason?”

Stu shrugs. “Mini break”

Tom’s hand stills, holding the salt shaker in midair. “A. Mini. Break.”

“Are you having a stroke? I know you’re getting on a bit, but you’ve got a few years in you yet”

Tom narrows his eyes. “Very funny. I’m just surprised to find myself suddenly in Bridget Jones Diary, that’s all”

Stu raises his eyebrows.

“Sue put it on after book club” He mutters, his cheeks looking warm. “She did! She has a crush on Shirley Henderson!”

Stu holds his hands up in surrender but doesn’t stop grinning.

“So are you coming with me or not? You’ll like it: cute little boutique hotel, queer-friendly owners, king size bed, real fire, big bathtub, little dog in residence”

“Sounds nice. What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need an occasion to spend some quality time with you?”

Tom looks at him with something like suspicion. “Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out”

“Bought the lube and everything”

“In that case, I can hardly say no" He drawls. "Where are we going?”

Stu grins from ear to ear. “It’s a secret”

Putting the saltcellar down very deliberately, Tom adjusts his glasses and licks his lips, nervously. “Stu, I thought we banned secrets since the trip to Alton Towers”

“Come on you weren’t **that** sick. Ok, ok, I admit that perhaps that was maybe a mistake... in hindsight”

“I broke my wrist!”

“Nothing will break this time, it’s just going to be you and me in five-star accommodation and as many old churches and ruins as you can handle” He soothes, getting up to rub the lingering tension out of Tom’s neck and shoulders. “Trust me ok?”

“Hmmm” Tom answers, but Stu catches him happily humming to himself later as he packs a bag.

*****

Despite all of Tom’s ‘subtle’ interrogation, bargaining and downright whining, Stu refuses to divulge their destination.

“It’s childish not telling me now, I’m going to find out soon enough” Tom argues on the Friday as they load their bags into the car.

“As you say, you’ll find out soon enough”

He manages not to make any further hints for nearly an hour, until Stu joins the M4.

“We had better not be heading somewhere shit.” He warns, peering at a passing signpost “If I end up spending my weekend in Swansea we will be having serious words”

Stu scoffs. “Shut up moaning, You trust me, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Tom replies. “I’m going for a snooze. When I wake up I expect to be somewhere both interesting and luxurious”

Stu's choice of Bath is, as he predicts, unassailable for a classy weekend away, and they spend two delightful, interesting and romantic days and nights there before Stu goes and does something annoying.

“Home is that way” Tom points out of the driver's side window as they leave the city, unheeded, as Stu turns the car further west and away from London.

“We’re not going straight home. We’re going for a walk first”

"We were walking all day yesterday"

"Not that sort of walk, a country walk"

"You can walk in the park when we get home."

"We're going this way because I've got a plan" Stu smiles, but he doesn't take his eyes off the road for the next hour.

Tom’s lips remain a thin white line as they navigate their way through Bristol city centre and park up in the disabled spaces at the Clifton bridge.

When Stu finally turns to face him, Tom is relieved that the grin is absent.

“I’ve never seen it before, so we’re doing the bridge walk” His voice is firm, neither asking nor teasing.

He pops into the visitor’s centre for a leaflet, or a wee or whatever, Tom doesn’t ask. Instead, he walks out onto the bridge and leans on the low railing, staring out at the long expanse of mud-brown river, the grey sprawl of the city and the large red brick factories jutting out of the landscape beyond. The familiar disappointment rises up, bitter in his throat. Such an anticlimax to all of his hopes.

“You know how many people kill themselves jumping off here?” He says as Stu appears beside him.

“I knew all that spa treatment, Michelin starred food and sex would put you in a good mood”

“I’m grateful,” He says gloomily, resting his chin on his hand.

“I don’t want you to be grateful. I want you to be happy”

Stuart's voice remains determinedly chirpy and Tom plucks up the courage to ask what he's been suspecting for a while now. 

“Stu, did you book this whole weekend to force me to face my fear of the West Country?”

Stu consults a booklet he picked up in the visitor’s centre. “Did you know that Brunel’s design was actually the fourth choice for the bridge?” He says, lightly, “and it was his fifth go at entering the competition for the final plan?”

“Yes. I read history at Bristol, they never shut up about the bloody thing, Why are we here?”

“I told you, we’re doing the walk”

Tom sighs, giving in. “Let’s get it over with then” He reluctantly takes Stu's proffered arm. 

They have to take it slowly through the woods on account of his leg, but the ground is soft from the recent shit weather and the walk isn’t difficult so, for the most part, Tom is able to physically escape any questions.

Eventually, however, the pain rises up enough that he can no longer ignore it, and they stop to rest on a rock.

“Parents disappointed?” Stu offers him a sip from his water bottle.

“No.” Tom takes a grateful sip. “Perhaps.” He amends “but I got the A-level grades so they never blamed me. Told me they were proud” He sighs as if he doesn’t believe it. “Mum especially was really supportive, helped me choose Bristol as a second option.”

“Didn’t make any friends?”

“No - you’ve met my uni friends. I met people! Met my first boyfriend - the horrible one”

“Is that the issue?”

Toms answering look is withering."Don't be absurd"

“Okay, so if good stuff happened why weren’t you happy?”

“Who says I wasn’t? Come on” Tom pulls himself up with a wince and rejoins the muddy path, leaving Stu to catch up.

The climb back up to the bridge is slippery and steep and the effort precludes talking, at least for Tom who is panting by the time they reach the top.

Waiting patiently for him to catch his breath, Stu looks out over the city.

“Loads of wide-eyed spotty faced kids will be graduating next week, just down there” He smiles, sounding as though the prospect enthuses him.

Tom grunts, unable to outrun him and his questions now.

“Don’t you ever wish you were twenty two again?” The smile that curls Stu’s mouth is wistful.

“I was pathetic at twenty two. I wasn’t like you, all confidence and…” He waves a hand encompassing Stuart. “…hair spray!”

Stu contains his laughter with an effort.

“…and parties and rampant sex every night.”

“Nor was I! We all do dumb stuff at that age, make idiots of ourselves, try things we shouldn’t. It’s all part of the fun. I’m sure you were no more of a disaster than me”

“Disaster!… Stuart, I was… sad. I didn’t have that kind of youth. I didn’t see a future for myself, I didn’t like who I was – I still don’t like who I was. I wasted my time trying to be something else - Which I was shit at, by the way. I left with terrible grades because I wasted my education moping over a guy who didn’t want me, I barely went out because I felt like shit: I wasn’t exactly happy to be alive. So no, I don’t wish I was twenty two again. In fact, I wish I never was that pathetic young man.”

He stomps back to the car, his knee aching from the old break and the new arthritis that’s formed around it, and his face hot with shame.

The bonnet dips under Stu’s weight.

“I don’t think you’re pathetic. Never have done.”

Of course, he couldn’t give Tom five minutes to get himself together.

“You used to think Posner was pathetic and he was far less of a car crash than I was” He grumbles easing himself down on the car beside Stu.

“Pos is one of my oldest friends!”

He shakes his head, dissatisfied with the flippant and unconvincing dismissal. “You didn’t know me back then. You wouldn’t even have noticed me”

“And going to Oxford would have made you - what? Confident? Happy? Straight? Whatever you wanted to be - It would have made you someone else entirely, right?” He snorts derisively. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Tom gnaws on his nails.

“The only reason to go is to say you did, and you say that anyway” His smile is proud, but Tom isn't so easily convinced.

“That’s easy for you to say, you went. You’re the one who got to be a part of history. I wasn’t exactly treading the same stones as ancient kings in a damp Bristol student house”

“You don’t need to be a part of someone else’s history. You’re making your own.”

“Christ that’s cheesy”

Stu shrugs, unconcerned.

“What do you even see in me?”

“The future. Fuck the past, it’s not important.”

Tom smiles, thin and weak. “Not exactly the typical attitude of the historian”

Stu leans in close. “Fuck the historian” He whispers.

“If you insist” Tom grins, unable to stop his smile from turning happy and a little filthy.

Stu sits up straighter and squares his shoulders. “I want lunch after that climb.” He announces. “You hungry?”

“Starving”

“Come on then,” He stands and offers his hand. “Let’s get out of this shit hole”


End file.
